Birthday
by writergal85
Summary: A pre-series 3 Turnadette fic about birthdays. Pure fluff. Originally posted on my blog, moved here.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's note: A two-part, pre-series 3 fic, based on birthdays._**

"Dad, could I get a bike? Jack got one last year and Rob just got one for his birthday and I still don't have one."

"Maybe for your birthday then. We'll see," Patrick said, winking at Shelagh across the table. He liked being able to use "we" with her.

"But that's not for ages!" Tim frowned. "Shelagh, when's your birthday?"

Patrick scoffed. "You can't get a present for her birthday, you know that's not how it works." He grinned at her again, but panic gripped his insides. When was her birthday? He'd never asked. He'd asked her to marry him, they were going to live together, be husband and wife, and hopefully raise a family, but he had no clue when her birthday was. He had a vague idea it might be sometime in the fall or winter – he remembered there'd been some rather good cake at Nonnatus. But there was always cake at Nonnatus!

"It's the first of next month," she said, slight hesitation in her voice.

"That's next Friday," Timothy exclaimed. "That's a week away. How old will you be?"

Patrick sputtered into his tea, partly from his son's question and partly from the realization that he had a week to find his fiancée a suitable present.

"It's all right, Patrick, I don't mind. I'll be 33, Timothy." She paused slightly before saying her age, as if she had to add it up in her head. When was the last time she'd really celebrated a birthday?

The boy shrugged and went back to finishing his pudding. "That's not as old as Dad. But his birthday's not until March."

"Thanks, son," he said dryly. Shelagh chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I feel terrible," he said later as they relaxed in the sitting room together, Timothy having gone up to bed.

Shelagh set down her teacup and frowned. "About what Patrick?"

"Your birthday. I never even asked when it was."

"No, I should have told you. With all the excitement lately, I just wasn't sure when to bring it up." She looked down at the engagement ring on her finger and smiled. He'd proposed only a few days ago, and it still didn't feel quite real. "And it's only a birthday. At the convent, we'd usually just have a good tea – and cake, of course."

"Do you want to celebrate at Nonnatus?" They'd seen the nuns and nurses recently at Freddie's christening. Sister Julienne had embraced them both after Shelagh told her of their engagement, but he thought he'd sensed some unease, at least from Shelagh. She'd been quieter than usual afterwards.

"No," she said quickly. "I'd rather celebrate with you and Timothy."

The way she said "you and Timothy" made him grin like an idiot – but he'd been doing a lot of that these days. He took her hand and kissed it, another habit he'd taken up ever since he proposed. "All right then."

* * *

Patrick Turner sat in his car outside his house, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It was late and he'd just returned from taking Shelagh back to her lodgings, but he wasn't ready to go inside yet. He needed time and quiet to think, and his car was as good a place as any for that.

Shelagh's birthday was in two days and he still hadn't settled on a proper present. There would be flowers, of course, and a cake, provided by Mrs. B., and a romantic dinner out, but he wanted to give her some small token of his affection. He could ask her what she wanted, but he suspected she'd either insist that she didn't want anything or give him practical suggestions, like a new sewing basket. It was her birthday, her first birthday spent with him instead of amongst the nuns and nurses, and he wanted to surprise her with something that would please her.

But what?

Clothing or hats of any kind were out of the question. He was rubbish when it came to all things fashion, and he knew Shelagh preferred to pick that sort of thing out herself. Likewise with jewelry. He didn't know what she liked. It had taken him nearly two hours just to pick out her engagement ring, and while he'd nibbled her ears several times, he'd never even noticed if they were pierced (In his defense, he had been rather distracted). Perfume was a possibility, though he rather liked the way she smelled without it - soft soap and lavender.

Had she ever hinted at something she wanted when he wasn't paying attention? He got out of the car, trudged up the steps and let himself in the quiet house. Maybe if he spent time in a room where they'd been time together, he'd remember something.

But once he'd settled on the sofa, cigarette in hand, the only thing he could think of was that evening, when he'd arrived home to find Shelagh and Timothy crouched on the floor of the sitting room, their small collection of records spread out around them.

"Dad, what happened to Mum's records, the classical music ones?" Tim asked. "Shelagh's been helping me a bit with my piano and she said listening to the music sometimes helps, so you can hear how it's supposed to sound when you play it."

He rubbed his hand over his hair self-consciously. "I think those were the ones I gave to Granny Parker, Tim. I'm sorry."

He'd given most of Margaret's records, clothes and jewelry to her mother after she'd died. He kept only a few small items – her wedding ring, a scarf she'd loved and photographs from their wedding day – in a box in the back of his wardrobe. At first, it had been so reminders of her wouldn't sneak up on him unawares, but now it was just for comfort, so he always knew where to find her.

Shelagh's smile was full of sad understanding. "It's all right. I think Sister Julienne has a copy of the one you need, Tim. Maybe you can ask to borrow it? We can listen to something else after dinner."

"But you've listened to all of those twice already," Tim said and Shelagh blushed. Patrick hadn't realized she'd been exploring his rather meager music collection so thoroughly and felt a bit embarrassed. Though he loved music – he'd played the piano as a younger man – he hadn't had time to really enjoy it for years.

"Well, third times' the charm," he teased her. "Or maybe you could play for us after dinner, Tim."

Tim rolled his eyes and muttered something about being hungry, so they'd all moved to the kitchen to eat. Afterwards, they'd ended up playing Scrabble until Tim went to bed, and then he and Shelagh curled up on the sofa to listen to the radio until he took her home.

At the time, Patrick hadn't thought much of their conversation about the records, but now it gave him an idea. And Shelagh might just like it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note: This is pure, embarrassing fluff. Like birthday cake icing fluff, so I hope you have a sweet tooth.**_

Friday evening, the three of them sat around the table, enjoying slices of Mrs. B's famous coconut cake before Shelagh and Patrick left for a late dinner.

"I never get to eat cake before dinner," Timothy said, licking frosting from his fork.

Shelagh grinned. "I suppose I'm lucky then," She'd left her hair down in loose curls and the modest navy dress she wore made her eyes seem even bluer, Patrick thought. She looked lovely, and he'd told her as much when he'd arrived at her lodgings, roses in hand.

"You look rather smart yourself, Dr. Turner," she'd teased, more coy and flirtatious than he'd ever seen her.

Before they'd left the boarding house, she'd taken one tight, pale pink bud from the bouquet, slipped it into the buttonhole of his overcoat and stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him.

"Thank you for tonight," she whispered.

He tucked her arm in his to lead her to the car. "Happy Birthday, darling."

"Can we do gifts now?"

His son's question brought him back to the present and he glanced at his watch. They had about 45 minutes before their dinner reservation. He nodded and Timothy dashed upstairs to his room.

"Presents? Patrick, you didn't have –"

"It's just something small, and I wanted to. So did Timothy." He reached across the table and took her hand. "You're not going to deny him that, are you?"

She smiled shyly. "No."

They heard Tim clattering down the stairs, and then he appeared back at the table, carrying two hastily wrapped packages.

He placed both in front of Shelagh. "Mine's the smaller one. Open that first."

"All right." She worked her finger under the rather familiar green-patterned wrapping paper and tore it off. Inside was a rough wooden picture frame, the edges slightly crooked, so it didn't sit quite straight.

"I made it at Cubs," Timothy said. "The picture's a bit old, but Dad said we could get a new one taken of all of us before the wedding."

The photo was from last year's Christmas dinner at Nonnatus. She remembered that night well; both Turners had come slightly late as usual. While they were enjoying their pudding Timothy had cornered her to tell her all about his presents and his upcoming violin recital and to ask whether or not she thought they'd get snow for Christmas because last year Jack had bested him in a snowball fight and he was determined to get him back.

"Timothy – stop bothering Sister Bernadette. Besides, we've got to go," Dr. Turner appeared at her elbow, a red paper hat from one of the Christmas crackers crookedly perched on his head.

She stifled a laugh. "He wasn't a bother. Happy Christmas to both of you."

They wished her a Happy Christmas in return, and just as they were leaving, Trixie snapped a picture of father and son, grinning at each other. In the background, she could see the blur of her habit as she moved out of the frame.

She ran her hand over the image now. She didn't have to move out of the frame anymore. She belonged there.

She hugged Tim. "It's lovely. Thank you. I can put it right on my bedside table, where I'll always see it."

Tim shrugged sheepishly, then pushed the larger present toward her. "Dad's turn."

Patrick cleared his throat, suddenly somewhat nervous. Perhaps he should have gone with jewelry. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

Shelagh had just torn off one corner of the wrapping when the phone rang.

He frowned and rose to answer it. "Hold on." He wasn't supposed to be on call tonight – he'd specifically rearranged his schedule for Shelagh's birthday plans. _Please be a wrong number,_ he thought, and picked up the phone.

"Turner residence. Dr. Turner speaking."

"Dr. Turner? It's Nurse Miller. I know you're not on call tonight but Dr. Lewes is already out on a call and I'm with Mrs. Emmons at Mafeking Buildings…"

He listened carefully as the nurse gave him the details, his heart sinking to his feet. He would have to go. Plans gone awry, once again. He just hated having to disappoint Shelagh.

"All right," he said, when she'd finished. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up and trudged back to the table. Shelagh looked at him expectantly and he was once again struck by how beautiful she was, all blue, pink and gold. He sighed. "That was Nurse Miller. She's got an older first-time mother at Mafeking Buildings having some complications."

Tim huffed. "You said you took tonight off."

"I did, but Dr. Lewes is on another call and can't go." He rubbed his eyes, then glanced at Shelagh, who was trying and failing to hide her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Patrick," she said softly. "Duty calls."

"But it's your birthday!" He realized he probably sounded a bit like Tim whining, but at this moment he didn't care.

"Well, it looks like it's going to be someone else's too," she joked, mustering up a smile. "We both know babies don't come on schedule. I understand."

She rose to follow him into the hallway to say goodbye. "Do you want me to drive you back to your lodgings on the way there?" he asked as he slipped on his overcoat.

"No. I'll stay here and have a little dinner with Timothy if you don't mind. Wait for you."

"But it could be ages. What about your curfew at the boarding house –"

"I may have intimated I'd be out later than usual and Mrs. Forrester agreed to leave the key where I could find it," she said with a shy smile. "It is my birthday, after all."

He laughed and if he had more time, he would have teased her – but Nurse Miller was waiting. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Wait for me. And in the meanwhile, enjoy your present."

* * *

It was well after midnight when Patrick trudged back up the steps at 24 Bermondsey Lane, his body and mind heavy with tiredness. He rooted through the pockets of his overcoat for his keys and the rosebud Shelagh had stuck in his buttonhole earlier fell out.

"Got a date, doc?" Mrs. Emmons had asked as he'd slipped on his overcoat to leave, baby safely delivered into the world. Patrick was confused until she'd pointed to the flower.

"Oh – something like that." He'd slipped it out of his buttonhole and into his pocket, where he wouldn't lose it. He and Shelagh were still being discreet about their relationship.

Now, he picked up the flower and remembered her, waiting for him. She was probably exhausted as well, if not asleep. He should have taken her home, but it was nice to think of her here, and to think that one day soon, she would always be here.

He quietly slipped his key into the lock and eased the door open.

The house was mostly dark, and for a moment he thought she might have found another way home and left. But then he spotted her purse and coat by the door, and the soft glow of a lamp in the sitting room.

He crept into the room and smiled at what he saw. Shelagh had curled up on the sofa, her head buried in one of the pillows. The records he'd bought her lay in a haphazard pile nearby, and her glasses rested on top. He'd thought she looked lovely earlier in the evening, but seeing her like this – shoes kicked off, hair tangled, mouth slightly open in slumber – there was a new vulnerability about her that made his chest ache.

When he bent down to pick up her glasses and wake her, he noticed the note he'd left with the records clutched in her hand. He'd gone through several drafts, so he remembered exactly what it said.

 _Dearest Shelagh:_

 _Tim is probably watching, and asking you what this note says, and whether or not you like your gift, and which of these records you're going to listen to first – so I'll try to keep this relatively short._

 _It occurred to me the other day that we don't have a song, which is odd, considering the first time we met was not long after I heard you sing (Did you know that? Remind me to tell you that story sometime.)._

 _You know infinitely more about music than me, so I'm entrusting you to pick it – our song. I figured some records might be a good start since I have very few and you don't have any. But if you don't like any of these, we can go back to the shop and pick some more. We can keep listening as many times as you like, until we find the right one. My one stipulation is that you let me dance with you. As long as I can dance with you, I'll listen to anything._

 _All my love,_

 _Patrick_

Apparently, she'd taken his request rather seriously, he thought, smiling. He gently shook her awake and pressed her glasses into her hand.

"Happy birthday," he whispered.

She grinned sleepily up at him. "You're back."

He sighed. "It's late. I should have taken you home."

She yawned. "It's fine, Patrick." She sat up, stretched and ran a hand through her hair. "Besides, if I was at the boarding house, I wouldn't have been able to complete your request."

"My request?" He sat beside her. "Oh, the song – you found one already?"

"I think so," she said, leaning into him.

"Well? Put it on."

"Patrick, aren't you exhausted? You should take me home, and then go to sleep."

"One song?" He held out his hand. "I had planned to take you dancing after dinner."

She had a very hard time refusing him when he looked at her like that. And tired as she was, she wasn't exactly keen to leave either.

Silently she rose from the sofa, crossed the room, and set the needle on the album on the record player. When she turned around, he was already there, waiting for her. She stepped into his embrace, closer than ever before, slipping one arm around his back and resting her cheek on his chest. He sighed in contentment. This was all he wanted, just to hold her for a few moments.

Their movements were slow, clumsy from exhaustion, and soon they gave up all pretext of dancing and just stood in the center of the room, wrapped around each other, while the record played.

"… _when I fall in love. It will be forever…_

"Good song," he whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"I thought you'd like it."

"I'm sorry about tonight."

She looked up at him. "It's all right, Patrick. There will be other birthdays. And anniversaries. And Christmases." Her smile grew wider with each word.

He grinned back. "Sorry, I've already got plans this Christmas."

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh. Got a wedding to attend."

She giggled and pressed her face into his waistcoat again.

The song finished and they stood in the silence for a moment, neither wanting to part and go back to their separate lives in separate houses, even if it was only temporary.

Patrick tried to stifle a yawn and Shelagh pulled away. "You need sleep."

"I suppose I should take you home." He kissed her once, then helped her slip on her coat and gather the records.

"You didn't listen to the Mozart? The piano?"

"No," she said, as she put on her shoes. "It got late and I wanted to save that for an afternoon with Timothy."

"Open that one. Just open it."

She frowned, but did what he asked. "There are slips of paper in here – another note?"

"Tickets, actually. There's a concert, two Sundays from now. I thought—"

"Patrick, it's too much, I can't. I don't even have a proper dress—"

"It's just an afternoon concert, nothing formal. I asked Nurse Lee for help on picking the right one. And it will be just the two of us, as I doubt Tim will want to sit through it."

The look she gave him was arch and flirtatious. "I'm surprised you want to sit through it. It will monopolize your Sunday afternoon."

"Just the afternoon? I had plans to monopolize your evening as well." He grinned, ran his hands up her arms and pulled her close again. "And no interruptions this time, come hell or high water."

"You know you can't promise that."

He sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. "I know."

"Patrick? All things considered, it was a wonderful birthday. One of the most memorable I've ever had."

"Really?"

She nodded and stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. And Happy Birthday."


End file.
